


Most Tormentful of Storms

by katydidmischief (cassiejamie)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Mutiliation, Castration, F/M, Frigga is Frigga, Hair-pulling, I Don't Even Know, Intersex Loki, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit but Discussed Non-Con, Odin being a Father, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Thor, Scars, Sex in the Epilogue, Thor Is Not Stupid, culturally accepted incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/katydidmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He screams himself hoarse as they cut at his flesh, the giants over his blue shoulders grinning as though this is the best entertainment they've seen in all their time.  He pleads and gasps and begs and pleads again and in the end, they laugh as he devolves to those screams and then nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the process of writing the foster family fic, my head got a little too deeply into that universe and I elected to take a break from it and work on something else from the prompts of norsekink. This is that something else-nearly 12000 words of something else. And while I am more than a little nervous to share it, I am doing so.
> 
> Please heed the warnings. I did not use the inbuilt AO3 ones, but I did tag everything with as best a description as I could and I am not kidding about any of them: this fic starts right off with Loki being castrated, his rescue includes him asking to be killed, and Odin murders an entire race for his son. There is a lot of discussion of Loki and his perception of his body and Thor mentions a few times how much he hates the Jötunn race. That said, the explicit rating exists for the epilogue with fluffy, happy not-that-perfect sex. Seriously, if anything like this is a trigger, please, please read with caution.

He screams himself hoarse as they cut at his flesh, the giants over his blue shoulders grinning as though this is the best entertainment they've seen in all their time. He pleads and gasps and begs and pleads again and in the end, they laugh as he devolves to those screams and then nothing at all.

The blade on his cock sounds so similar to the sound Frigga's knife made when she ate her meals—it's wielded not by a healer, but a butcher. He wonders if the giant even cleaned the knife between preparing the evening meal and starting this.

"Sweet little girl," someone whispers to him as he lays dazed and bloody on the floor of the throne room.

And Loki whimpers.

"Pretty thing," Laufey says from his seat. He looks bored and yet there's something in his eyes that tells Loki of unspeakable horrors to follow and he asks himself why he ever thought this a good idea.

He does not belong here, does not perhaps belong anywhere.

He is bare from the waist down, his skin a mixture of blue and gold; his armor, Asgardian metal mixed with the leathers Thor had brought home and worked and had Frigga imbue with protective spells, it's all torn away and he's been left in his underclothes: he looks the part of a woman and Loki feels hands where he's never allowed them before.

Vomit rises in his mouth and out, pain and disgust shown in one act.

The tears come next.

"Odin's son, now Laufey's daughter," he hears. "Take her away."

(The dungeon, the cell, they're both dark and wet and Loki should be able to adapt to it, but he can't: a fever sets in and what little he eats is barely enough to keep his energy up. He feels weak to the core and his magic is trying to pull from the stars around him, but it never quite reaches; he feels blood between his legs when he moves and he mourns for the loss.

Who is he now?

They call him Odin's bastard son, they tell him he is Laufey's ugly daughter. There's a mess in his head and when they put their grubby hands on him, Loki just lets himself go away, leave his body, escape in thought. It is his only way to stay sane, to disengage from the hurt.

In his confusion, Loki grows to hate them, imagines a great many ways that they could be wiped from the realms like the Dark Elves before. He sees Thor in his mind, slaughtering the lot, with the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. He sees Odin and Slepnir standing above the army of Asgard, the world of Jötunheim awash in bright color as it falls into permanent darkness.

He sees Frigga standing on a ledge near the Bifrost Gate, wisps of magic forming on her fingers as she strangles this world with only a thought.

"Pretty little Asgardian Princess. Odin's daughter now. Do you think he'll marry you to the brute Thor?" the guard whispers to him.

Loki shivers and squeezes himself into a corner of the cell.)

Time passes.

Loki loses track of the days first, than the months; he stops looking out at the sun and moons beyond to gauge the passage of months—what use is there? To mark the time is to believe that he will ever leave this place and he's tried that once already and failed. This place will be his home for whatever time is left for him and then it may also house his grave. If they let him have one.

He doubts it.

There are footsteps in the corridor beyond, a loud pounding sprint and Loki thinks of his brother, how he used to create such a racket in the halls of the palace. He dazes out in the memories, a little smile on his mouth as he lays down to touch his fevered head to the ice of his mattress.

"Loki."

He is proud that even in his memories, he can still hear Thor so perfectly.

" _Loki_."

There is urgency in Thor's voice that's never been in this memory before.

A clatter snaps his attention up and Thor is there, hammer having smashed the bars of his cell to shards, and with wide eyes, Thor says, "Loki?" He enters the cell alone, kneels before him, "You are ill."

Loki wants to make a comment about stating the obvious, but his mind is locked in exhaustion and disbelief. He cannot bring himself to speak, just touch a very shaky hand to Thor's shoulder and his skin tries to change as the warmth seeps in.

"Can you walk, brother? Mother is here, she and Eir, we just have to go to them."

Wordless, he tries to do what he hasn't in too long: Loki takes a step and crumbles, leaning into Thor as he slides toward the floor. One strong arm wraps around his shoulders and Loki is hoisted up, his bare chest to his brother's, then he feels Mjolnir being tied to Thor's armor with one hand; freed of the hammer, Thor sweeps his other arm under Loki's skinny knees and pulls him up.

"We will go ahead, clear a path for you," Sif says, her voice too grim and Loki wonders what that means.

Frigga lets out a cry when Loki is laid at her feet and Eir purses her lips as she'd done when they were children, up to mischief and covered in bruises because of it; Thor wonders if she sees mischief now or if she has no other way to show her disbelief that this is what can become of the Princes when let alone in the universe.

"We will attend to your father. Take care of Loki," Fandral says.

He is also far too serious for Loki's tastes and he fights to open his eyes again, but he can't... or perhaps won't—Thor's hand is heavy on Loki's shoulder and Loki flinches at the touch, trembling now that his mind has caught up and he knows that this is real, this is not just some pretty picture he has come up with to keep him warm on frigid nights.

"Loki?"

Red eyes open, dull and that sparkle Thor remembers long gone, and Loki whispers, "You were right... they are monsters and they need to be destroyed," then he wets his lips, "Start with me."

"I will slay them all if it will give you peace and rest, but I will never lay a hand on you, brother. Never."

Loki cries. "Please."

A warm hand, too large to be Thor's, settles on his cheek; a thumb rubs away a tear, and he's told, "No, Loki, you will not die today or any day. Not by your brother's hand nor mine." Odin looks toward Eir, her look a simple one that speaks of the need to get him back to Asgard where she can work and he will be warm and well-fed. "Thor, take them back."

Thor squawks at that, starts to argue that he should be here, see to the people who've harmed Loki so grievously.

"With our army here, there are only a handful of guards and I trust none as I trust you to keep Loki safe."

No mention of keeping Frigga safe, only Loki, as if Odin's only concern is his boy and Loki wants to believe it so much. Wants to be the center of his father's attention even if it's only for the seconds between his memory of his little boy and this new reality. He struggles to his knees and shuffles closer to Odin, lays his head on the old man's shoulder.

"My son."

Loki will take it.

* * *

Odin comes home with Laufey's head in a burlap bag and a triumphant army at his back.

He makes sure the news is spread across the realms, this burning of Jötunheim, and he makes sure it's understood that to threaten his sons, to harm them, is an act of war against Asgard and he will always respond in kind.

* * *

Loki sleeps the first few days, his fever finally burnt out under his mother's care. She cleans him and spells food into him and allows no one to wake him; when Odin comes, stripped down to his tunic and leggings, she tells him in no uncertain terms that to wake their son will result in her keeping him away until she can trust him to follow orders. The look on her face as she says this speaks of other responses, far less dignified ones of a Queen but appropriate for a mother.

But when Loki curls himself into Odin's side, sleeping with his head on Odin's chest as Loki had when he was small, she finds her ire easing.

"He needs his father," she whispers, "Do not let yourself be King first with him. Not now. Later when he is healed and well..."

"I do not think I can ever be King first with either he or Thor again." Odin presses a kiss to Loki's shorn head. "What they have taken from him... we will spend a lifetime trying to repair."

He's not wrong.

Even as Loki's body heals, the wounds finally closing as the infections are cleaned and fought off, and he spends more time awake than asleep, Loki is nothing more than a shell of himself: he eats what is fed to him and he leaves his sick bed because Eir demands he stretch his muscles, but he speaks so rarely and interacts barely.

Frigga is taken from his side at intervals now, to bathe and rest herself, and Thor or Odin stay with Loki. They fear what he could do to himself if left alone, fear what he might try if he is consumed by his thoughts.

On this day, Thor is with him while Frigga and Eir meet; he brings a book, one of Loki's well-thumbed texts on magic lore and ancient spells and he sits beside his brother with it, reading bits and pieces aloud in an attempt to get some response.

What he gets is this: "Please stop."

It is the first time Thor has heard his brother speak since his plea for death days ago. "Would you prefer something else? I can send the pages to find..."

"No," Loki tells him, looking at his hands, "I wish to be left alone."

"Eir has cautioned us to that desire. Loki, I will not leave you to this despair..." He swallows, touching his brother's hand and then wrapping it in his own. "Let us share it, brother."

"You do not want to hear of it."

"If it will help you, then I will listen to every word," he squeezes that hand, "Pappa too."

Loki twitches: they have not called their parents by such affectionate titles since they came of age and it became clear that the only appropriate titles were Mother and Father. He doesn't know if he can bring himself to say either Mamma or Pappa, but he feels, at the back of his mind, the safety of his childhood, when he knew nothing more than his parents' love.

"How can you stand to sit there, knowing what they did to me? I am defiled."

"You are my brother. I see only that."

"I can be no brother—I'm no longer a man."

"Lies. You are Loki, God of Mischief, and I will flay anyone who tells me otherwise... unless of course, you decide that you wish to be of your other gender," Thor says, feeling a bit awkward as he tries to think of how to explain it further, this love he has that will not change if Loki decides to take his feminine side to heart. "I will love you regardless of what parts are beneath your clothes, Loki."

"And Father? Would he love me so if someone dared to point out that I am neither a Prince of Asgard nor a Prince at all? I will bring down his rule."

Thor pulls Loki a bit closer, pulls a fur over his shoulders and wipes a tear from Loki's cheek. "Pappa has already said that there is much change to be had in Asgard and if he has to be angry with our people to get them to do so, then he is content to do so—no one has dared to do anything other than bring gifts for you. If there is bitterness, he has not told me of it."

"It does not change that I am of no benefit to him. He has no need to keep me."

"Loki, you devalue yourself. Pappa loves you."

But Loki refuses to speak again, and Thor spends the rest of their time together trying to get his brother to eat even the smallest of morsels.

(Thor tells Odin of the conversation as they sit on the balcony of Odin's chambers; their dinner plates lay abandoned, cold, on the table behind them, though they keep a hold of their flagons.

The realms do not hold enough ale to dull the pain in Odin's heart.

"You sit with him," Thor says, "Do you ever talk with him?"

"No."

"Why?"

Odin gulps a bit of his ale, then answers, "I have hurt your brother in way I had not thought of. I believed I was raising you both with equal affection, but I look back and think and I can see through Loki's eyes how he was pushed aside in your favor."

"So you deny him now too?" Thor asks, his face an expression of confusion and frustration.

"I was waiting for him to speak. I thought he would be angry with me, that he would show some spirit and perhaps rail at me." Odin sighs. "I wanted him to show some of hisself to me, that I might show him that whatever I thought when he was tiny, that plan went up in smoke with his first word. Now I fear I have done irreparable harm. He shakes when he sees me and cowers."

There is just a moment of silence, then Thor says, "He needs to hear you speak. Even if he tries to hide, Loki must know you as Pappa again, not the King of Asgard.")

Frigga is feeding him the next day, ignoring his attempts to avoid the spoons of broth or spit out the pieces of meat that she breaks up with her fingers. She is as placid as always, never letting the drain on her spirits show, and praises him for every bite he does take.

He cannot avoid the need to please her with every word and as he makes his first unbidden reach for the roasted bird on the plate, he can feel her smile.

The piece is large, but he fights against the roil in his guts and chews it slowly. When he swallows, he turns to her and finds not only Frigga grinning at him with happiness, but Odin as well.

The old man descends on the bird, tearing it to bits without a word and he presses a piece into Loki's hand, "If this is what you desire, I will have the entire realm roast game for you."

The piece in Loki's hand is warm, but it sits in his palm and he does nothing with it.

"Eat, Loki."

"Odin," Frigga warns and he falls back a little, moves away from Loki's plate with wet, greasy fingers that he wipes on his pants.

It's an act so unlike the King that Loki doesn't know what he should do; he looks to his mother for guidance, yet she only pats his arm and kisses his cheek before she tells him, "I will be across the hall."

She leaves the room and Loki trembles.

Odin takes it in, trying to decide if it's worth the discomfort his presence gives his son and knows he has to, even as his heart twists and he wants to spare Loki from every last bit of pain, he knows they need to get over this wall that has forged between them.

Loki licks his lips, wets them and eyes the space between them.

"Your brother tells me you believe I have no cause to love you. That you believe that I have no use for you in our family."

He is met with silence, though the trembling grows more pronounced.

Odin pulls the plate away, sets it on the table, and slowly lowers himself to the foot of the bed. He doesn't want for Loki to feel threatened and he hopes with a bit of distance, without Odin standing over him, Loki might let go of some of the tension.

"You are my son. I will always have cause to love you, Loki, without condition or reason."

"I am defiled. I am just an embarrassment to the throne."

It breaks Odin's heart, something he didn't think possible after what he had witnessed in Jötunheim. "You are not. You are a beloved Prince of Asgard and your people still bring gifts to ease your illness."

Loki makes a face. It is the first action that is most like him that Odin has seen in too long; he thinks his son might still be in that broken shell, waiting behind the safeguards he's put in place to keep from being hurt all over again.

Then he says, "I am no Prince," and he throws the bit of food he'd still held across the room, lets his head fall into his hands and clenches at hair that no longer exists.

"You are a Prince."

"To whom? Surely you don't expect the guards to think me so when they saw I am no longer a man or that the rumor has not already been spread among the people outside these walls that I could never hope to please a wife."

"It does not matter what they believe. They will call you by your title and I am the one who set that title the minute I crossed into Asgard with you, I am the one who reinforced that title when you said your first word and I knew you were more than some chip to be bargained with. You are my _son_."

Loki's hands clench futile around his head, fingernails digging into delicate skin and Odin, without thinking, pulls them away, binds them up in his hands.

"Do not harm yourself, Loki. It pains me."

"I am defiled. I am nothing."

The words slip free of their own accord: "Your mother was defiled. Do you think her worth less? She is still Queen, I still love her free of requirement."

Loki trips at that, looks up suddenly, and takes a moment to process the words. "But..."

"We were young yet, betrothed," Odin tells him, "And after, they believed I would never want to have a wife that had been defiled. They believed she would never want to be touched again. I was told to find another, but I chose instead to wait for her, to comfort her, to still love her even when your grandfather offered to relieve us of our intended marriage.

"Loki, it did not make her _less_ , it made her stronger. It made her stronger than I, stronger than your brother. She makes my life better for having her." Odin touches his chin. "You are not some trinket to be thrown away when something sullies it. You are my son and you are treasured and we will fight for you as long as you have need of it."

* * *

Loki's nightmares wake Frigga that night.

Odin comes to relieve his tired wife, takes his son's hand, and strokes Loki's brow until he sleeps once more.

* * *

When Loki wakes, the sweat and the burn of his memories force him upright; he stumbles as he cross the sickroom toward the bath, and he finally relents after the third fall, calling out, "Pappa," toward the sleeping Odin.

"Darling boy," Odin tells him, "we will strengthen those legs of yours."

Loki doesn't respond—what good would it do him to admit that he'd rather sleep, hoping to never wake—and lets himself be stripped of the tunic, the loose fitting leggings, the smallclothes that he'd been forced into while clipped flesh healed.

Odin grasps the back of his son's neck. "This changes nothing."

Exhaustion has worn Loki's nerves down to nothing, his heart too sore, and he responds, "Of course. I have only lost my sodding cock. Clearly all will be well with some meals and a nap," before sighing and stepping into the water.

Lapping at his ankles, Loki seems unsure, as if gauging something, and then Odin realizes that his son is trying to decide how to sit without pain.

Were Laufey's head not already within his kingdom, Odin would ride off in this very second to bring it back. Perhaps he should bring back the monster's own cock and balls, stuff them in the corpse's throat like he'd let the damned giants do to Loki.

Loki calls Odin's attention back to the present.

"Say something."

"What do you wish to hear?"

There's no answer: Loki wishes to hear a great many things, most of them most likely untrue, but he cannot give any of them voice. It'll tear him to pieces to hear any of them denied.

"Does it hurt to sit?"

Loki nods.

"Has Eir done nothing for it?"

"She tries. The Jötnar rubbed dirt into the wounds and they filled with pus, now it takes longer to heal. She and Mother have tried many things, but the water still burns."

Healing skin, Odin knows intimately, hurts when it comes in contact with warm water, particularly with the salted kind that Eir tells them all to bathe in when they've open wounds. He knows that must be what the baths have been filled with for Loki and he leans down, draining away the water.

"Oh." Loki looks crestfallen, as if he's being denied something so simple as the chance to get clean.

"I'll not have you hurt over a bath. Eir and her salts can go on to Helheim." Odin shifts about several things, pours in just enough water to clean the salt from the walls of the bath and then refills it all; with a look through the door, he calls a cushion from one of the chairs and sets it on a step and tells Loki, "It is cooler now."

And Loki could cry.

In fact, he does.

He stands there, naked as the day Odin had found the squalling babe, still bruised and healing, and he cries and cries, fat tears rolling down thin cheeks.

No one could resist their child in such a state and Odin is in the water without a thought, pulling Loki in to hold him. "You are my son, Loki. I love you. If you choose it, I will love you as my daughter as well. So will Thor, so will your mother," he says. "Forgive me for what I've done. You will never be neglected again."

Loki cries harder and clutches at the back of his father's sleepclothes.

"What have you done?" Frigga accuses when she appears in the following moments. "What have you said to him?" She is furious and in full need to protect, ready to physically throw Odin from the room and he has never been more proud of his wife than in these moments when she's in full defense of their children.

"I am giving my boy a bath."

She glares. "He cries."

"He needs to."

This time, her lips purse and she chooses to sit not out in the room itself, but onto the floor of the bath, watching, guarding.

The tears ebb, Loki still clutching at Odin's clothing and he murmurs, "I am ugly."

With no hesitation, Odin whispers back, "Only in the eyes of those with black hearts," and he reaches for the washing jug to pour the water over Loki's back; for a little while this soothes Loki, but the lethargy brought by tears sets in and he slides to the seat, hands still clenching at his father's clothing until Thor appears and it's like the bathtimes they had as children.

Loki lets them wash him, lets Thor scrub his large fingers over the short, bristly hair atop Loki's head with a bit of mandel soap, and he lets Odin wash the spaces between his fingers and toes. No one dares touch the place Loki needs cleaned most, the place he tries so desperately to both ignore and attend, and in the end it is Frigga who hands him a cloth with the instruction that he must clean himself thoroughly.

He does so with reluctance and throws the cloth away in disgust after. Thor doesn't remark on it, refusing to draw attention to it, and instead splashes his brother with the water.

Loki splashes him back.

Thor responds with a larger wave.

Loki does too.

The bath erupts in play, both Loki and Thor grinning by the end and Odin and Frigga dripping with water, Frigga's dress soaked through to the skin. Neither parent cares, however, because Loki remains smiling even after the water is drained and Thor wraps his brother in the thickest, warmest sheets he can pull from the stacks; he smiles when Thor pulls him out into the room and flings clothing at him.

It disappears once he is clothed again, this time in the buckskin leggings he prefers to ride in and a loose linen shirt. "I cannot ride."

"It would hurt you so, I know, but it will not hurt you if we sit in the garden, will it? You need light and fresh air," Thor answers, his own loose shirt tangled over his head.

"No, it will not," Frigga answers, wiping the water from her face as she speaks; she pushes back some of the doused locks and adds, "He needs both of those. Bring breakfast with you."

"A picnic in the gardens," Odin agrees.

And Loki finds himself with no recourse: he frowns at the idea of leaving these quarters, of leaving the palace walls, but he cannot fight all three of them. He doesn't want to be seen, but he had missed the sun with every moment of his captivity and he craves the sunlight.

(He knows now that he could never have belonged on Jötunheim with his love of warmth and light, that his tastes for roasted meat and brown bread would never have been overcome by the fish and fruit the frost giants so loved. He could never have forgone the silks and linens and leathers in favor of so little clothing nor slept on furless beds.

They were heathens.

And he _is_ Asgardian.)

Thor takes his hand, letting Loki remain in his thoughts and guides him through the halls. He releases that hand only to pick up the meal the kitchen staff have packed them and then takes it back and guides them out the entrance the pages and servants use.

The guards don't even blink, used to seeing both Princes wander out this way, and they watch the two as they pass through the gate that surrounds the Queen's garden, then nod toward each other and move from the entrance to the gate: they failed to protect their Prince before, they won't fail again.

Within the gardens, Thor takes a moment to spread out a blanket and sets their breakfast down in the center, takes a few seconds to commit to his memory the look on his brother's face as he basks in the sunlight before he sits down opposite Loki.

He sets out bread for Loki, butters it thickly, and shreds game with his fingers to add to it. There are eggs cooked in their shells, juice and ale, and a kanelsnurrer for each of them.

"Eat," he tells Loki, the usual push and order gone from his tone.

Loki picks at it, eating slivers of meat and ripping off small pieces of bread. The kanelsnurrer, that's gone in seconds though and Thor will take it, if only because the less Loki's belly growls, the less Thor feels the urge to beat Volstagg into the ground of the sparring ring.

"The flowers are beautiful this year," Loki murmurs a while later.

"Mother spent much of her time here while Father and I looked for you. She hated it, told us both that she should be there when you were found, but Father needed someone to remain behind to take care of Asgard."

"And you refused?"

Thor shrugs and lays back against the blanket. "I could not let you suffer because of my hubris."

"After what I did..."

"Let it be, Loki. I know just as well as you why it was done and I cannot say it was without all benefit," he says, "You were not wrong about my ability to rule."

They look between each other and Loki nods, turning his eyes back to the flowers and vegetables that Frigga has tended since he was a toddler; neither speaks for a while, Thor enjoying how Loki's cheeks seem to take on a little color and Loki enjoying the sheer contentment of being here where he is safe.

Time passes.

Odin comes looking for them, warmth filling his belly when he sees that Loki sleeps, his head pillowed on Thor's chest and he looks unencumbered by some of his pains. He comes closer and finds that the usual twitching, the way Loki recoils from imagined touch, none of that is present, only soft breaths and lazy motions as he moves to maintain his comfort.

Thor glances at his father, lifting his finger to his lips.

Frigga brings out fruit cut into pieces and soft cheeses and she feeds them to her older son as she's done her younger all these days, letting Loki continue to rest where he is.

When she leaves, she takes Odin with her, and he tells her, "He actually rests," with joy.

"Where is he safer than with his brother?"

* * *

They see the cracks in Loki's armor: every day, he lets himself be pulled somewhere else in the palace, somewhere else in the land that surrounds it, and he brightens a little. He lets them bathe with him and dress him and he eats more and more on his own.

But Loki still calls himself defiled, still believes that their love for him is conditional.

They can do nothing but hope that he will eventually see the truth.

* * *

When they'd brought him back, Eir had told his Mamma to take away the mirrors. She'd warned his parents against letting him see his body as it is now, telling them that he needed to time to heal before he saw what had been done to him.

Loki thinks this is ridiculous and unnecessary, but then it feels like a lifetime ago that he'd been rescued and he barely remembers the despondency of those first days. He doesn't fully understand the fear his family had labored under as they did all they could to keep him alive.

Now, though, he stands in Thor's chambers before his brother's mirror, seeing his new body as he hasn't been able to before:

The space above his quim, where his cock and balls last lay nestled, is marred with thick, ropey scars. There are divots in his flesh where infection had killed skin and muscle and sinew; where Eir had used magic and healing energies to drive away the infection, the skin is puckered and pink. His thighs are scarred as well from the nicks and cuts of the knife as they'd butchered him.

"Who will ever want me like this?" he murmurs as he takes in the disfigurement.

Thor looks at him from the bed, sitting cross-legged atop the covers. "Plenty of people."

"I am ugly."

"You are beautiful."

"Please, brother, careful with your lies."

The look he casts Loki is full of affection. "I am no liar, Loki, and I cannot lie to you—you are beautiful. Those who will not see it are both blind and stupid."

Loki shrugs. "You are my family. You are bound by honor to say these things."

"I am bound by nothing but the truth. And I would have your suitors tell you the same." And Thor would, he would call on every one of the men Loki has courted and every one who has sought time with him to tell Loki just what they've all said about him: that even if he is filled with a bitterness that needs comforting, even if he plays mischief at the worst of times, Loki is always the most beautiful one in the room, be it in visage or in brilliance.

"Still, would any of them touch me if they could see this?"

Thor bites his tongue and nods.

Loki shakes his head, wraps a sheet around his body and mutters, "It doesn't matter, anyway. I fear even my own touch now," then, "I will change and then if you are free today, I would like to go hunt for game."

"The kitchens haven't provided enough for you?"

"On the contrary, for all that the subjects have brought me as gifts, I feel perhaps I should return the favor to the lower houses," Loki admits.

"That is good of you."

"And while we hunt, if we happen to find wild cloudberries, I would like to pick them."

Thor laughs—the true reason shows through, the cloudberries that Loki has coveted all their lives. "We need not hunt for game then, if what you actually desire are those berries. We could bring our friends with us and make it a contest to see how many actually make it home."

"If you like. But I have no intention of letting Fandral steal my bounty," Loki replies, walking from the room with the sheet clutched around him.

"I shall break his hand if he tries," Thor calls to his back.

He's not kidding and he makes it clear to his friends as they stand in the stables, the horses already braying at their presence, that while they are welcome to tease and joke, any berries they find belong to Loki.

None of them argue, though Sif looks at Thor with contemplation in her eyes and he feels uncomfortable under that gaze. Still, she says nothing and when Loki arrives a moment later, it's no longer even a thought in Thor's mind.

(They ride for most of the day and Loki doesn't seem to be in any long stretches of pain, though Thor catches a wince here and there. He whispers to Loki that to ride sidesaddle would not be shameful, but he only gets a furious look in response and his brother continues on, and from the corner of his eye, Thor can see Sif cast another thoughtful look at him.

It's odd, but he shakes it off in lieu of searching the grounds for berries.)

It is late when they return, several large birds hanging from their saddles and several pouches that ooze a bit of cloudberry juice from the laces, they're so overstuffed, and Frigga waits for them beside the door to the kitchens.

"Come, Odin is already attempting to eat more than his share of midday," she tells them as they set their take into the ice chests and Loki whispers something to one of the cooks. She herds them away, refuses to let Sif or Volstagg beg off and directs them to Loki's chambers—his proper chambers, not the sickroom he's been laid up in since he'd come home.

The candles burn brightly from their sconces and the long, sheer curtains are open to show the length of the citadel and the towns beyond; the sun is beginning to set and they will soon be plunged into night, but it's comfortable, the idea of being in his room with his family and friends, as opposed to the fear he assumed he'd feel.

They eat, Volstagg quicker than his counterparts, and they laugh, Odin included, at the silly stories that Fandral tells. Sif rolls her eyes at the embellishments, but doesn't deny any save the most outrageous, seeing how it makes Loki smile and Thor as well, and she promises herself that she'll say nothing of what she sees happening before them all.

She promises herself she'll ensure Fandral says nothing as well: the man is about as subtle as a rampaging bilgesnipe at times and this situation with Loki requires a more delicate touch. He, of course, would argue that he is more than able to handle the fragility of it all, but she has known this man since childhood and she'd hate to have to strangle him to get him to close his mouth.

Frigga winks at Sif before the younger woman leaves, leaving Sif to wonder if her Queen, too, sees. Knowing her as Sif does, it wouldn't be surprise if Frigga does.

"Would you like more?" Loki is asked after the others leave it is simply himself and his family.

"No, thank you," he answers, the ale leaving him feeling so pleasant and loose. It is the first he's had, kept away from him by Eir and her overprotective tendencies. "I think I should like to sleep soon. I have very much missed my proper bed."

"All right." Odin rises to his feet and kisses Loki's temple while the pages clear away the remnants of the meal. "Sleep well. Dream only of good times."

"I think I will dream of cloudberries tonight."

Frigga lets out an exasperated noise. "You and those berries. I'll have them turned to tarts to be served at the Midsummer feast if you do not pace yourself."

"You would not." She gives him a very motherly look and Loki grumbles but nods, tells her, "I will pace myself," and it earns him another good night kiss, this one to his forehead.

"Sleep where you are comfortable. If that is here tonight, then I am glad for it, but if you need myself or Pappa, or Thor, do not be afraid to say so."

"I will be fine."

She kisses him again, this time on a cheek, and then she and Odin are gone, just Thor sitting at the table, and they both yawn, as if synchronized. They laugh in response and Thor feels all that much better for hearing that noise from Loki's lips.

"Mamma is gone. If you wish for me to stay, I won't tell her."

He knows that Loki is nervous, though he tries to hide it, to sleep alone after so long with someone beside him at night: Thor would be too, aware that it would cost him one more layer of security.

Loki doesn't even speak in response, just nods and slowly strips himself of his dirty clothing. Thor does the same, reminds himself to not make a noise or look twice at Loki's body—Eir had said it helps Loki to accept that this change to his flesh is not seen as hideous or shocking if no one makes an issue of it—and then settles in his leggings under the blankets and furs. He is followed shortly by Loki, who struggles for a moment to get comfortable before coming to some decision and curling into Thor's side.

"Good night, brother."

Thor kisses his temple in response, listening as Loki slowly drops off with Thor's arm wrapped over his shoulders and the lights illuminating all the dark corners.

(Frigga lay wrapped around her husband; Odin strokes a hand through her hair, their chambers lit only by the sconce above their marriage bed. The flickering glow sends shadows across their skin and Frigga traces designs on Odin's chest.

Neither has to say what they both think: they know the path Thor and Loki are on. Were this any other world, there might even be a problem with it, but Odin is grateful that here in Asgard, it is not only accepted, it is expected.

After all Frigga is his half-sister, their father shared and their mothers different. His father and mother had been cousins, his grandfather and grandmother siblings; Loki will be accepted with no further explanation and as long as children appear at some point, their people won't care whom their mother is—Loki won't have to birth them if he doesn't feel it right.

"I trust no one more than I do Thor with Loki," Odin admits.

"And I think there is no one more vested in seeing Loki happy than Thor. They are well-matched," Frigga kisses his cheek, "but they must come to that conclusion themselves. Loki must feel himself an equal first, must feel himself worthy of affection and touch, before he can ever let himself feel that vulnerable... even with Thor."

Odin kisses her lips when she finishes. "We can continue to help them along the path."

"You do so love to play matchmaker, beloved."

And Frigga kisses him again, knowing that beneath all the bluster and hardness, beneath the veneer of the King, her husband wants only for his children to be happy: she is never been prouder than in these moments when he is nothing more than a doting, spoiling father.)

Thor shifts as the lights burn, a hand on Loki's bare back, but he doesn't feel like he wants to sleep: he feels, for whatever reason, as though to close his eyes leaves Loki open to attack and he couldn't bear the loss of his brother. Not again. Not after the great journey Loki has thus far made—Thor wouldn't be able to live with himself if something made Loki backslide.

He is taken back to the moment by a whisper.

"I can hear you thinking."

"And here I believed my thoughts silent."

"Go to sleep, brother mine."

Thor smiles at the order, the half-slurred words, and kisses Loki's short hair; he watches Loki drift off once more and still, he stays awake, glad of the view it gives him.

He lifts one of Loki's hands from it's place on his chest once his brother is back fully in his dreams. He rests his palm against Loki's and looks in wonder at the place their flesh touches, feels the warmth of Loki's skin against his own and promises himself that he will always be here to keep Loki from harm. He sets that hand back down and kisses Loki's hair again.

As the sun begins to peer over the horizon, Odin walks by the door to Loki's chambers and Thor finally allows himself to rest. He slumbers on as Loki rises, stretching with a yawn and a bones popping into their rightful places, and sleeps still when Loki enters the bath, strips, and cries out.

Frigga, however, she's far too attuned to her son at this point—and a rather good sorceress with well-practiced monitoring spells—to not know that he has need and she's there in seconds. It's only seconds more to note the source of Loki's distress and she is beside him, an arm pulling him in close.

"I have never bled," he whispers, then struggles against her, pushes her away.

"Loki, it is all right."

He drops to the floor and yanks at his hair, eyes locked on the smears of menses blood left on the marble. "No, no, make it stop," he cries and rocks himself, pulls his fingers even harder.

Behind her, she feels the breeze of another entering the room and it's Thor, his gaze locked in horror on his brother. "Loki?" he says, rushing forward to pull Loki in to his embrace and refusing to let himself be shoved away. "What is it?"

She kneels down. "Your brother bleeds as he would a woman."

"I don't understand. Has Loki not bled before?" Thor is confused, the emotion written right across his face: Loki has always had his female parts, and Thor had assumed, he'd always had his bleed as others do.

"No. We assumed he was barren, but I fear that Jötnar only bleed once they choose to be women."

Thor tightens his grip on Loki. "It changes nothing," he tells the other, "You are still my brother."

"I _bleed_ ," Loki hisses back, "I am no brother."

"Please, Loki, do not go back to that. You are who you choose to be and that does not change because of a bit of blood." Thor pulls Loki's hands from his hair, combs his own fingers through the curls to gently massage the abused skin of Loki's scalp.

"I am a woman."

"You are who you choose to be," Thor repeats.

* * *

Loki spends the week of his bleed in bed, despondent again, and Thor goes out of his mind with worry.

He murmurs over and over his new mantra, "You are who you choose to be," into Loki's ear, but it does little for Loki until the bleed ends and he can return to his former state, willfully ignoring the truth of his body.

And the cycle repeats itself over the course of months.

* * *

The Bifrost deposits him amid a bit of scorched earth, the swath of black a contrast to the layers of ice that once formed so much of the land of Jötunheim: Odin had seen to it that when all was said and done, so much of the ice was melted that no one could a hope to survive here. This Thor knows.

Still, he has hope that somewhere there is a book or a scroll, something—anything—that he can return home with to show Loki and bring him out of the cycle of isolation he is in. If it's only a spell or instructions for some mixture that will stop the blood, then Thor will take it: he needs to see Loki well for more than a few weeks at a time.

The fires had ravaged the land on this frigid little planet, though, and every husk of a home he steps in is decidedly fruitless. He wanders for a day, then another, stepping on bones as he walks and crunching fresh snow, until he reaches the destroyed palace, but as he stands in the throne room, it's ceiling now gone and all within left to the elements, he decides that perhaps this is the only place that might be of service to them.

After all, the best library in all of Asgard is kept within the walls of its palace, tended by the most revered of their elders. Why would it not be the same on other worlds?

Except perhaps Midgard. They're still but infants.

He wanders deep into the decimated palace, seeing the burned holes and charred remnants of torches lessen with each level he passes through. Bodies change from blackened shells, bones protruding from the dust, to those which were simply slaughtered by the swords of Asgardian soldiers; there are a dozen mangled bodies in a dining hall, flagons on various tables beside glass plates, and Thor is bitterly glad that the last thing these monsters knew wasn't fire, but the cut of one of his men.

He hopes they felt the same terror Loki had.

He hopes some lived long enough to feel the blood as it spurted onto their skin.

It is a savage thing to want so badly the suffering of others, but Thor doesn't care: Loki fled here to find himself peace and instead they gave him nothing but pain. They got only what they deserved.

Thor continues to walk, searching high and low for any sign of a library and he wiles away another whole day in the search, but as he finally begins to think that there may be no library to be found, he opens a door and there it is, shelves and shelves of books and scrolls and pots of blood-red ink with bone quills.

It is not without damage, of course: the soldiers of Asgard had torn many books to shreds, had poured ink across reed parchment. There are muddy puddles of ripped pages that Thor cannot avoid stepping on, shards of broken glass that glitter in the torchlight.

What is left takes him time to filter through, find anything that even mentions Jötunn biology and load each one into the sack he has brought.

(It takes only a day and a half to make the return trek to the Bifrost site, minutes to return to the palace and his mother where he drops all the literature at her feet. Then he yawns widely, wavering where he stands.

"Did you not rest at all?" she asks fondly.

"Would it surprise you if I said I did not?"

"It would not." Frigga smiles, caressing his cheek. "Go attend to Loki. He has missed you, though do not expect him to say as much. He too is tired and it sharpens his tongue."

And the sleeplessness has indeed left Loki with a bite to his words, but he softens when he sees how very drained Thor looks, tells him with a pat to the bedding, "Come rest."

Thor only nods as he drops the outer layers of his clothing, strips himself to his underclothes, and crawls onto the bed; he has so little energy that he cannot even bring himself to get beneath the blankets, and he flops onto his belly with a moan of pleasure.

"Rest. When we wake, you will tell me where you've been."

The response is a simple hum of agreement.)

Frigga spends hours alone with Eir in the Queen's personal chambers, pouring over every word. There are diagrams and notes and many writings about the right way to remove one of a Jötunn's genders, and they try not to comment on the fact that Laufey had let someone hack at Loki when Jötunheim's healers had clearly worked out good methods.

It is a deluge of information that they must sort through to supplement their old texts, and in the end, though they know Thor had sought a way to stop Loki's menses, they learn enough to know that it cannot be changed: Loki can never go back, can only stop his bloods if he is with child.

This is what Frigga tells both Thor and Odin while Loki slumbers through breakfast.

"So this is what he is condemned to for the rest of his life?" Thor's voice is rough. "Ever greater reminders of what he's lost?"

"We will do what we can to ease it for him," Odin replies.

"That is not enough."

Thor stomps off, back to Loki's chambers—their shared rooms now—and strokes over the bare skin of his brother's shoulder. Loki bleeds in three days and Thor is savoring these moments before Loki isolates himself, hurts himself with words and hair pulling.

"What is it?" Loki whispers, eyes still closed.

"I thought you still sleeping."

"Who could sleep through such angry footfalls? Also, you slammed our door. I may sleep deeply, but not so deeply that I wouldn't wake at _that_ ," Loki teases.

Thor smiles at him indulgently and strokes over Loki's arm again, then takes a deep breath before telling him, "I went to Jötunheim."

Loki goes stock-still. "Why?"

"To hunt for books."

"Why ever would you do that? What need could you have for Jötunn texts?"

"I wanted to find something to help you. I knew it would be futile to find a way to restore what you've lost, but I hoped I could at least find a way to ease this monthly torment," Thor moves his hands to Loki's face, closes the distance between them until they are together, forehead against forehead, "Mamma and Eir spent all night studying the papers, but there is nothing, Loki. I am so sorry."

Eyes closing for a second, Loki swallows thickly. "You went to Jötunheim and searched for days for the tiniest bit of hope for me."

"I miss you so when you hide away. And I know you do not believe that you do not have to, so I had hoped... I just wanted you to have a few moments of respite, if nothing else, to not have this be the center of your universe for a time."

Loki's gaze takes on a quality Thor cannot name, his voice odd as he murmurs, "You truly do not care. Not that I was used nor that my body is ugly and scarred now nor that I bleed."

"I do care that they hurt you so, but I do not think it makes you unworthy of love or changes who you are," Thor nods. "I think you even more beautiful with all your scars and I had always assumed you bled so it bothers me only in that it bothers _you_."

The sudden urge to kiss Thor fills Loki, but it repulses him at the same time and he settles for pushing his head into the niche below Thor's chin, molds his body around him. "You would have me," he whispers, breath tickling across Thor's throat.

"As much or as little as you wished." Thor kisses the crown of Loki's head. "I would marry you and present you to the Court as my King or Consort, whichever you pleased."

"And would you have me bear our children?"

"If you wished it, yes. If you do not, I can father them with another, or we could take in two or three of the orphans and give them a proper home."

"Asgard would prefer blood children."

"Asgard prefers you safe and happy and they will honor our children whether they are blood or not."

Loki presses a kiss to hollow between Thor's collarbones. "I fear there will be a wait for all that."

"Good. I will still be here, at your side, when you're ready," Thor tells him, chest rumbling beneath Loki's ear. "I want you well, love, above all else. I want you back to where you were before all this, further back too to times when you felt secure in your place and cared for. This will take time and I can be patient."

"Patient? You?"

Thor laughs and smiles. "It is not a trait I often display, but for you, I can fight my nature."

For a moment, Loki simply pets at the bare skin where Thor's shirt has ridden up, then he wets his lips and tells his brother, "Thank you."

"Do you wish to get up now? It is quite late in the morning."

"I'd rather not move," and Loki tightens his arm across Thor's side in emphasis. "I am quite happy here."

"Then here is where we will stay."

Later, when Frigga brings them a plate of cheese and bread, they are still there on the bed with hands lazily petting at whatever skin they can reach. It's so sweet and loving and she lets the moment warm her heart before she leaves the chambers as quietly as she can.


	2. Epilogue

Time passes.

Loki struggles, only relenting in the end to listen to Eir when she says he must take each day as it comes when he has no other recourse; he accepts that he cannot hope to be healed in so short a time nor that he will ever fully shake the demons loose from his mind.

Frigga teaches him her tricks for the bad days and then teaches him how to politely excuse himself from political meetings for the times when he's overcome by memories or phantom pain. Odin makes sure that his place in the Royal Court is secure and then has the elders reaffirm it, before he opens the doors of the palace one day so their people can come and speak with Loki and tell him just how much he is loved.

And Thor waits. He never pushes, he never guilts, he just... waits. He sleeps beside Loki and holds him when Loki has need to be, picks cloudberries to bring Loki as gifts, and takes great pleasure in washing Loki with every reverence. He hunts game when he is home, enough to sate Loki's appetite and sometimes, when the light is low in their room, when the sun is long set and the sun dark, he feeds strips of it to Loki with greased fingers as they sit on their bed.

He is, in other words, every inch as patient as he had promised he could be.

Years have gone by, and he is still so patient, waiting for the day when he can tell the Court to expect their wedding, their betrothal never needing to be formally spoken of and known all the same. It is what he looks forward to, a gift at the end of this long journey, and he tells Loki one day—when Loki asks, of course—how he plans to make Loki writhe with pleasure, how he plans to wring every last orgasm from Loki until he is boneless and content.

"Is that what you will show to the masses as proof of consummation, my unconscious body?"

"It is a thought."

Loki rolls his eyes fondly and Thor smirks and believes they are one step closer to their marriage day: then, as the day closes and they are in their chambers, Loki shivers and asks him, "You truly love me?"

"With all that I am."

It is no lie. Thor cannot imagine life without Loki, cannot picture what his life would have been if Loki had not been by side through all of it, and cannot envision a future where he is alone.

"Good," he whispers, and Loki strips himself of his shirt, then reaches for the laces of his leggings with shaking hands. The buckskin falls to the floor, a crumpled pile with smallclothes, and he looks awkward for a moment before crossing to the bed where Thor lay reclined against the pillows; he crawls over and straddles Thor's legs, laying his forehead to Thor's.

"Are you sure, love?"

"No. But I have faith you will stop if I have need of you to."

"Always. Now and forever, Loki, trust that."

"I do."

Their lips meet then, not their first kiss but the first heavy with passion, and Thor pulls Loki in close, letting his hands rove over the bared flesh. "As slow as you like," Thor tells him when they part, "And as far as you are comfortable."

Loki kisses him again, shifting just enough to align their hips; Thor thrusts up without a thought, riding his clothed cock into the apex of Loki's thighs and groaning. He has seen the scars and Loki's quim, has entertained so many thoughts of just how wet Loki will be, how well they will fit together, and he trails a hand over Loki's breast.

"Someday," Loki murmurs and Thor's heart soars at the pretty picture that leaps to mind of their child suckling at Loki's tit. He still hopes that he can convince Loki to follow in their father's footsteps and bring home a child who needs them, but he cannot deny that the idea of Loki round with a babe pleases him on some visceral level.

"I look forward to that day, my heart," Thor tells him, voice soft and accepting, and he pulls Loki down fully, lets Loki blanket his body.

Loki merely arches an eyebrow at him, then takes advantage of the position to drag Thor's shirt up, away from his chest where Loki then mouths and nips at toned muscles and golden skin. His attention to his brother's nipples elicits a gasp and then a growl and Loki smiles into a bite.

Thor growls, presses a hand to the back of Loki's neck in order to press that beautiful mouth to the skin around his collarbone. He moves his head to the side, gives Loki space, and in a roughened voice, tells him, "Mark me. Let all see that I have chosen my partner and that we are equals in all things."

It spurs Loki to action, those words, and he bites down, worries a bit of skin in his teeth and when he pulls back, Thor's hand still on his neck though only resting now, he is proud of the reddened welt he's left behind. Were Thor to not wear his armor tomorrow, all would see the mark and Loki has a feeling that Thor will not only avoid his armor, but may, in fact, go shirtless whenever he can.

A jealousy floods him tempered by the knowledge that in all these years, Thor has waited and waited for him, has bedded no others and instead taken pleasure in his own hand: he is too honorable and, Loki feels, too good for someone like him.

"I can see it in your eyes, Loki," Thor whispers, guiding his face back to Thor's with a gentle hand, "The Norns... they led us down this path and promised our souls to one another. Do not degrade our bond or yourself—all is as it should be."

"And you are sure that this is what you want? To never know when I might change my mind and leave you to chase your own orgasm?" Loki sits up, his arse carefully lifted from Thor's body.

"As I said before, Loki, I love you with everything I am. I desire you and if I only lay with you on occasions, then I am happy." He pushes himself up on his elbow, holds one hand out to Loki, "I would lay with you now if you still wish it, or if you give me a moment alone, I could be ready for sleep."

Loki seems to think it over, then leans back onto Thor, long hair falling from its bind from the movements, and he says, "I think I shall like you to mark me."

"Would you? I would bite you where all could see."

"If you think that a deterrent, you will be sorely disappointed."

Thor smiles; with one hand, he draws Loki in and holds him steady with the other as he sinks his teeth into the spot where throat meets chest. It will be seen by the whole of Asgard, Loki a regular at Court as well as his daily rides along the edge of the land and through the sprawl of the city below their palace, and that rouses a warm feeling in Thor's gut: let them see that their Prince, their future King as Thor intends for his brother to have the proper title, is ready for their marriage bed.

Loki smiles back, unable to stop himself and when he pulls at Thor's shoulders, he feels not fear at the weight of his betrothed over him, but safe, loved. "You are entirely too overdressed for these proceedings," he tells Thor and in the blink of an eye, Thor is bared to him.

"I sense your magic will be of great use to us."

"It's not meant for tricks."

This time Thor lifts an eyebrow; he is stopped from any reply when he feels one of Loki's feet stroke hesitantly at his side. "I think first," he whispers, "I would like to taste you, love, wet my face with you and take you over the brink."

Loki lets out a whimper at that: he has learned how to give himself pleasure, how to find that tiny spot that lets him see stars, but he has never felt a mouth on his quim, never thought Thor would desire to do such an act. He nods in agreement quickly, lest his brother change his mind, and closes his eyes, focuses on feeling the trail Thor's lips leave on his skin.

When Thor flicks his eyes upwards, he sees an expanse of pale, perfect skin. He does not even think of the scars that Loki is still so sensitive about, and that is why after he dips his tongue into Loki's bellybutton, he resumes his line of kisses right through the marks. He only wants for Loki to feel good, to feel gratification, and when a hand clenches around his shoulder, he realizes he has crossed into the no man's land that Loki has carefully cultivated with this area.

Then there is a gasp and Loki arches slightly from the bed.

It is not pain Loki feels nor shame, Thor realizes: it is an intense pleasure. He grins against the scars, licks them, and listens as Loki moans.

He thinks with a savage glee that Laufey may have taken Loki's cock but his butchery has not all been terrible, not if the pain that Loki has lived with can be abated with this kind of touch and he can feel something so much better.

"Again," Loki says.

Thor licks over the scars, this time flattening his tongue over the pits and ridges and his mouth curves into a maniacal smile as Loki bucks beneath him; his quim, dripping with fluid, wets his throat and Thor wishes he could show this moment to his entire realm, show them how whole and happy Loki is. But then... Thor is a man who would break the hand of any who dared to touch Loki, blind those who would look upon him without his permission.

Another swipe at the scars.

With a featherlight touch, he runs fingers over the most intimate scars, the ones that run lower and lower. And when he feels slick beneath those fingers, he slides only one over the seam of Loki's quim before letting himself drop lower, until he sets both of his hands on Loki's thighs and leans in to blow a cool breath over hot skin. "You are so beautiful, Loki," he murmurs and leans in.

Loki cries out.

Thor licks again, one finger lifting from Loki's thigh to open him to Thor's questing mouth.

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Loki is whimpering, lost on the wave of sensation.

"You taste... Loki, you are exquisite."

That earns him a moan and a clench of a hand in the bedsheet; Thor stiffens his tongue and presses in, shifting one hand to continue holding Loki open to him but enough that he can rub finger tips over that sweet nub. The sheet rips.

(Thor knows now how he will signal his people that their marriage is consummated.

He thinks it better than any speck of blood, if he takes a dirtied, wet, and torn sheet and ties it to their balcony. Let them see that Loki is so treasured that when he lay with Thor, he forgets himself so fully and takes his pleasure with poor results for their linens.)

Loki comes, muscles straining as he yells.

There is the noise of panting for a moment, Loki easing down from that great high, and then he smiles, saying, "Your mouth possesses great skill, beloved."

"Not only my mouth."

There is challenge in Loki's tone now. "Truly? Perhaps I need a demonstration of these other skillful parts."

Thor growls, crawling up and over his brother with some speed and latching their mouths together; Loki has never tasted himself, never wanted to, but now that it coats Thor's mouth he catches hints of salt and magic. He wonders, for a moment, what Thor tastes of and promises himself to soon find out.

"Shall I have you then?" Thor whispers when they part, the black of his eyes so full and round that the blue is nearly lost. How desperately he wants, Loki realizes, to find his release, but how he holds back for permission.

"If you do not," Loki replies, leaning up to bite at Thor's lips, "I will have you."

Thor can't say that the idea does not please him, the mere picture in his mind of Loki above Thor simply taking what is his by what will be a right of their marriage vows. After all, Thor will be bound by their very laws to see to Loki's needs, to give him whatever he physically desires when he desires it.

The shiver that rolls through him sets Loki grinning and he asks, "Shall I have you now, then? Take my right before we've even stood before the All-Father and taken our pledges?"

"If that is your wish."

Loki growls and rolls them, once again astride Thor's hips. "Soon, you will promise me so many things and I think in this moment I need only one," he says, Thor's hands on his sides to support him, "Only this: promise me that you will not keep in your desire."

"That is truly your want?"

"Would I give voice to anything I did not?"

Thor's eyes, if possible, grow even darker, and Loki teases the tip of his prick to his quim; he lets the fluid there leak over Thor, wets the head with it, and then stills, waits. He waits and waits longer, and then asks, "Do you break our vows before we even take them? I have _need_."

Without a word, Thor presses up with his hips, guides Loki down with his hands, and growls again when he is fully seated in Loki. "You would accuse me of failing you," he gets out, rolling his hips as Loki plants his hands on Thor's chest, "when you have need?" And with a grip on Loki's hips now, he grunts and thrusts, thrusts again, until Loki is groaning with each push. "Am I still denying you, brother?"

Loki bites at his arm to keep from crying out, the words having been accompanied by a particularly strong thrust, and Thor's hand is there in an instant, Loki's teeth sharp on such delicate skin. Thor doesn't say anything about it, simply continues their rhythm until Loki goes taut, his body one long tight coil of pleasure, then leans on his hands, panting through the aftershock of orgasm.

He eyes Thor once he's got his breath again, moves experimentally and murmurs, "I'll not break—finish."

Thor sits up at that, an arm around Loki to keep him in place, and he grinds his hips up, pulls Loki down, and it takes only a handful more thrusts before Thor's mouth is captured by Loki's and they're kissing as he crests and cries into Loki's mouth.

Exhausted of energy, Thor falls back though slowly, taking Loki with him; he tips them to their sides, slides a leg over both of Loki's to keep them joined and he smiles as he strokes long lines down Loki's back. For minutes there is silence, then Loki lets out a laugh and Thor does too and they huddle close together, kissing amid their amusement.

They bathe and they sleep and in the morning, Loki grins at the mark on his throat and Thor's own and he feels at peace.

(It is not always like this... it is not always easy: there are nightmares and memories and their first child, well, Thor will never allow himself to be taken from the palace that close to a birthing time ever again.

There are days when Loki calls himself ugly and can't bear touch, times when their children wonder why he sleeps instead of plays, and Thor is always just that little bit angry and wants so much more blood in Loki's name.

But they get through.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt at norsekink](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12132.html?thread=30797924#t30797924), mostly while listening to "Monster" by Imagine Dragons and the Olivia Wise version of "Roar" by Katy Perry. Because I have clearly lost what is left of my mind.


End file.
